


A Moment In Time

by FantasticWinter



Category: Birdsong (BBC 2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drinking, M/M, Pining, World War One, the frontlines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27620915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticWinter/pseuds/FantasticWinter
Summary: The next few moments flew by quicker than Weir would’ve liked. He wanted to undress Stephen slowly, kiss every freckle on his pale skin. He wanted to lay Stephen down on a soft bed and cherish him, show him how much he cared. But, they were in a war - - in a dugout which wall’s trembled with the enemy fire nearly nonstop.They would have to steal this moment in time and make the best of it.
Relationships: Michael Weir/Stephen Wraysford
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	A Moment In Time

The heavy onslaught of the German army’s fire shook the walls of the quarters Michael and Stephen had called home for over a year. Despite the length of time they’d been there and the constant occurrence of the shellings, Captain Michael Weir gripped the edge of the wobbly, unstable table and let out a curse, head bowed between broad shoulders.

“Bloody hell! Don’t they ever rest?” Michael reached for his glass of whiskey. He brought it up with a trembling hand to his lips so he could take a long sip, enjoying the slight distraction the burn of the hard liquor caused running down his throat. 

Stephen glanced over at the Captain from his chair, a circle of dirty, worn cards around a carved figure of a woman. It was difficult not to think of Isabelle when he looked at the figure, of course, Stephen thought bitterly - - he’d memorized the plains and curves of her body during his summer in Amiens. 

Pulling himself from such thoughts, Stephen flipped the card directly in front of him with the edge of his knife. He frowned softly when he saw the Jack of Hearts displayed. Love and sacrifice. Stephen scooped up the cards quickly to shuffle them back into the deck.

The walls shook again, dirt falling from the crevices between hastily put up wooden walls. Weir took another long sip, tipping his head back to swallow the last of it. He collapsed into the rickety wooden chair with a huff, putting his head into his hands. “I just want one day. Is that too much to ask?”

Stephen stood up slowly, reaching for his half-empty bottle of whiskey. He took the glass from Weir’s hand, filling it up again before thrusting it back. “They won’t stop. Just like we don’t,” Stephen murmured, topping off his own glass before setting the bottle down hard on the wooden table surface. He reached over and picked up the parcel wrapped in brown paper and twine. “Open this. It’s been sitting here all day.”

Weir looked up, his blue eyes searching Stephen’s face before he lowered his eyes to the package. He took the package from the lieutenant and set down the glass in his hand so he could pull the twine free of the parcel. He pulled out a knitted sweater and he let out a groan. 

“Mother’s outdone herself this time,” Weir laughed, shaking his head and Stephen couldn’t help but laugh along with him. Stephen watched as Weir pulled the sweater over his uniform, smoothing his hands down over the knitted fabric. Weir looked up at Stephen, letting out a shudder as the walls shook again, shots echoing overhead. 

Trying to keep their mind off of the brutal war raging above them, Weir asked softly, “don’t you have someone to send you mail, Lieutenant? I haven’t seen you get so much as a letter from a sweetheart?”

Stephen shook his head, taking a sip from his glass. “No, I don’t have anyone.” He glanced at Weir and let out a soft breath.

Weir watched Stephen, taking in the too pale skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the dirt encrusted in his nails as he brought the glass to his lips again. Stephen was handsome, Weir admitted to himself. Stephen had a youthful beauty about him and it didn’t seem right that someone so pretty be in a place as dark - - as dirty as this. Stephen deserved to be somewhere light, somewhere just as pretty and free and fresh as him. 

He deserved someone to send him letters. Weir’s heart ached at the thought that Stephen truly had no one. No a single soul that cared he was risking his life every single day for the freedom of England. 

Of course, that was a lie. He cared for Stephen. Perhaps more than he should care. But, he wanted happiness and safety for this young man.

Stephen caught Weir’s eyes, Weir flushed at being caught staring and avoided Stephen’s eyes. 

“What’s that look for, Captain?” Stephen laughed and he wobbled a bit. Stephen was drunk, or at least halfway there. “Save those eyes for your sweetheart.”

“I don’t have one,” Weir admitted and he laughed at the surprised expression on Stephen’s face. “Never even kissed a girl before.”

“You’ve never . . . Really?” Stephen balked, taking a step closer to the Captain. “Not a one?”

Weir shook his head, giving a soft laugh as red rose to his cheeks. He ran a hand through his curly brown hair and he answered, “no one but my mother, Lieutenant.”

Weir watched as Stephen tilted his head back to finish off his glass and then took a step towards him. Weir sat frozen in place, watching as the younger Lieutenant made his way over to him. He ran a hand down his sweater, feeling the knitted patterns under rough, battle worn skin. 

“What - - what’re you doing, Lieutenant?” Weir stammered, swallowing thickly.

“I saw the pictures you have,” Stephen said softly, stopping right in front of the Captain.

“I - - I . . . don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about. You’re drunk, Lieutenant.” Weir pushed to his feet but stumbled back a step as Stephen was right there in his space. He could see the dusting of freckles on Stephen’s cheeks and the blue slivers in the green of his eyes. They shared the same breath.

“The pictures you carry - - of the naked men,” Stephen said softly, his words nearly lost under the pop pop pop of enemy fire. It was only because they were so close that Weir was able to hear them. 

“You’re drunk,” Weir repeated but fear caused his heart to pound hard, louder he thought than the shelling. “Get some rest, Lieutenant. That’s - - that’s an order.” If Stephen went to Captain Grey or Colonel Barclays with the accusation Weir could be court martialed - - shot by his own men. 

Stephen took another step and their eyes met, Weir’s breath caught in the back of his throat. Stephen’s hand moved and for a brief moment, Weir actually thought that Stephen was going to hit him but then Stephen’s, rough against his freshly shaven cheek, stroked his skin. Before Weir could fully comprehend what was happening, Stephen’s lips were on his and his tongue was pressing for entry into his mouth. 

Weir gasped, his body stiffening as he tasted the whiskey and cigarettes on Stephen’s breath and he knew he should’ve found it repulsive but it was Stephen and Weir couldn’t find it wrong. Stephen’s lips were dry and his hands were rough but Weir wanted more. He couldn’t even care that someone could walk in and see them like this - - a one way ticket for a court martial for the both of them. 

Returning the kiss, Weir started to back Stephen up until the younger man’s back hit the wall hard. Stephen gasped into his mouth and Weir could feel the hard press of Stephen’s cock against his thigh and Weir had never felt this much pleasure before - - he wanted Stephen in every possible way. 

Pulling back, Weir lifted his hand, brushing his hand down the side of Stephen’s cheek, the youthful, smooth skin. “I want you, Lieutenant,” Weir breathed out harshly, panting as his fingers played with the suspenders on Stephen’s shoulder. 

“Stephen,” he panted, eyes darkened with lust. “Please . . . If - - if we’re going to do this . . . call me Stephen.”

Weir paused, for a moment he saw the young man - - the boy beneath the dirt and the war weary features. Weir wanted nothing more than to take care of him - - love him. 

“Stephen,” Weir repeated with a soft smile, leaning in to kiss him softly. His hands worked off Stephen’s suspenders so they hung off the waist of his trousers and his fingers began to unbutton the pants, working them off quickly. As much as he wanted to extend this moment, he knew they had to be quick. Every moment they continued increased their chances of being caught.

The walls trembled as Weir began to pull Stephen’s carefully tucked shirt from the waist of his wool trousers. Stephen’s eyes were hooded, watching as Weir undressed him. Weir’s rough fingers brushed against the hard length under wool boxers. Stephen let out a soft moan and Weir’s lips twitched into a smile. 

“And, you can call me Michael, when we’re like this. I want you to call me Michael,” Weir said, reaching up with one hand to stroke his thumb down Stephen’s freckled cheek.

It was amazing to see Stephen like this, vulnerable - - borderline sweet. So different from the man who’d scared Firebrace with the threat of a court martial for falling asleep on watch. From the man who’d remained stoic and calm as one of his men gripped Stephen’s arm as he bled out from a wound that had carved out his chest. Michael wondered if this was how Stephen had been before the war, before being thrust into a hell no man in their right man had been prepared for. 

Weir figured the war had changed them all and it took everything in them to maintain some of their humanity. 

The next few moments flew by quicker than Weir would’ve liked. He wanted to undress Stephen slowly, kiss every freckle on his pale skin. He wanted to lay Stephen down on a soft bed and cherish him, show him how much he cared. But, they were in a war - - in a dugout which wall’s trembled with the enemy fire nearly nonstop. 

They would have to steal this moment in time and make the best of it. 

Instead of the slow, sensual pace Weir would have preferred, he had Stephen turned around and up against the wall. Stephen’s trousers were pulled down just enough and Weir quickly opened up the man with oil slickened fingers. It was rough and dirty but something about being like this with Stephen felt so right. 

When Weir entered him, Stephen bit down on his knuckles to keep from making too much noise. Weir lowered his mouth to Stephen’s shoulder to muffle his own groan. The wonderful sensation of Stephen’s body opening around him, squeezing him - - Weir doubted there was a better feeling in the entire world. 

He thrusted in and out of Stephen’s body and he tried to reach around to stroke Stephen’s hardness. It was awkward but Stephen shifted a little to make it easier. It didn’t take long for either one of them to finish. Stephen finished first after a particular thrust that left him trembling as much as the wall he leaned on. Stephen’s muscles tightened around him and Weir bit down on Stephen’s shoulder to stop himself from crying out as he went over the edge. 

Finally, they were both still and panting. Weir collected himself enough to pull out and quickly tuck himself away. He knew that Stephen didn’t need help dressing but he aided the Lieutenant in fastening his trousers again and securing his suspenders back in their proper place. 

Their eyes met and Weir couldn’t help himself from kissing those lips again. He didn’t know when they’d be able to do this again - - if Stephen would even want to do this again. But, it would be a moment that Weir would treasure forever. 

They had stolen a moment in time that the both of them would keep close to their hearts forever.


End file.
